Happy Death Day: Fatal Loop

9

This June 8th was unlike any other. There was no chance encounter with Casey beneath Zach's apartment, no morning daze, and no birthday party in the evening. Only Casey, hospitalized and absent from her usual club rehearsals, marked the day.

As night fell, I stealthily made my way to the city hospital, utilizing a secret route shared by an ex-boyfriend who worked there as a doctor. Sneaking in through the momentarily unguarded ambulance bay, I waited until the coast was clear before donning a nurse's uniform I'd taken from the drama club and heading to Casey's floor.

The hospital's hushed corridors felt tomb-like in their silence. I tread softly, bypassing the nurses' station to reach Casey's room.

Gently turning the doorknob, the room's darkness, intensified by drawn curtains, enveloped me. Holding my breath, I strained to listen for any sign of life, but only silence greeted me. Glancing at my phone, I noted it was past eleven—time was running short.

With practiced movements, I navigated the dark room towards the bed, guided by the memory of my daytime visit. Casey's bed, a mess of tangled sheets, betrayed her presence even in sleep.

Knife in hand, I pulled back the covers, only to find an empty bed. A startled voice from behind spun me around—Casey, in her wheelchair by the bathroom door, had caught me red-handed.

"Leah?" Despite my masked face, recognition dawned in her eyes.

"It was you all along. I knew something was off when you showed up at Zach's. Why would the club send you with the script?" Her voice was tinged with sadness.

"But I never imagined you'd try to kill me. Did you know, I've been killed countless times, each time waking up on my birthday again, trying to find the killer, believing that catching them would break the cycle and bring a new day."

"I know!" I snapped, cutting her off. "You relive your birthday, dying at its peak, each time hoping to unmask your killer and move on."

My shock gave way to a sly smile. "Surprised? This is the real world, not some scripted drama. Why shouldn't I be the protagonist? Why can't I break free?"

Advancing with the knife, I declared, "Killing you will bring me a new day. Without you, I'll thrive!"

Casey backed up to the door, her voice hoarse. "Is that why you want me dead? How have I hindered you?"

"You wouldn't understand," I hissed. "Everything you take for granted should've been mine!"

"But I always come back," Casey retorted, smirking. "Doesn't that make me the real protagonist, and you just an obstacle to overcome?"

She squared her shoulders defiantly. "Go ahead. But know this: in the next loop, I'll know you're my killer."

"Then you've already lost, Leah." Her naive arrogance mirrored every time she'd taken what was mine.

Fuelled by rage, I lunged forward, driving the knife into her chest.

"Do you enjoy endless revival?" I whispered as she grimaced in pain.

"You probably don't understand why your hair disappeared or why your knees shattered," I taunted, twisting the knife. "But once part of you is gone, it won't return in the next loop."

With a final thrust, I reached into the wound, grasping for her weakening heartbeat.

As I extracted her heart, blood splattered across my face. "Happy birthday, Casey," I sneered, licking the blood from my lips. "And a joyous death day too."

As her life faded, Casey slumped in her wheelchair, her battle finally over.